


i've been acting like i'm strong (but the truth is, i hadn't felt a heartbreak until now)

by alltimeblow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Stiles, Biting, Crying Stiles, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, M/M, Panic Attacks, derek dies but not really i'm sorry, minor flashbacks, there is a wall involved because damn this fandom, they're only mentioned but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltimeblow/pseuds/alltimeblow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott knelt down next to him, “I took him to Deaton, his heart it, I don’t know, it started healing when I got him to the house? I could hear it.” Stiles was crying all over again. </p><p>“He’s in so much trouble,” Stiles was hiccuping as he tried to control his breathing. “I was so- He was dead! I am so angry at him, how could he just-?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been acting like i'm strong (but the truth is, i hadn't felt a heartbreak until now)

**Author's Note:**

> hi i wrote this in like an hour or two and i sort of like it and it was inspired by [ this](http://youneedmetosurvive.tumblr.com/post/55541326451/youneedmetosurvive-i-learn-urgently-the) post but i'm not really sure i did the idea justice oh god
> 
> title is two lines from the chorus of dismantling summer by the wonder years that i thought were pretty appropriate
> 
> i kind of enjoyed writing this but boy did i make myself sad. i think i may have overplayed stiles' grief but hey whatever
> 
> i hope you enjoy reading this okay bye

Stiles had fucking seen it okay. He saw it, the way that there was blood practically _pouring_ out of Derek’s throat and he was pretty sure he could see some of his intestines - he wasn’t claiming to be a hotshot in biology or anything but he was fairly sure that that wasn’t classed as _good_.

 

“W-we should go home,” Scott had whispered, his fingers wrapped around Stiles’ forearm. “You should go home, we’ll... I don’t know, fuck.” Scott was trembling, Isaac had fucking lost it; screaming and shouting and crying and crumbling into a mound of flesh and bones and blood next to Derek and clawing at the concrete beneath him.

 

“Take him home.”

 

“Stiles, w-what?”

 

He just shook his head, eyes glued to the warm pool of red surrounding the alpha, “Take him home.” He deserved to be at home, his real home. He deserved to be in the ruins of his childhood home, as sick as that sounds, because Stiles knew that Derek loved that house but it would always be tinged with _wrong_ and _guilt_. “Isaac, c’mon buddy.” Stiles opened his arms and fuck it, Stiles didn’t care about how Isaac sometimes had an attitude problem, this was bigger. Allison was standing with her face against the wall at the edge of the warehouse where the Alphas had attacked them. She walked forward, touching Stiles’ shoulder briefly, before hauling Isaac up from the crowd. Lydia crept under one of Stiles’ arms, snuffling into his shoulder, mascara streaked down her cheeks. “Isaac, let’s go.” Isaac took place under Stiles’ other shoulder, clutching the arm thrown around him.

 

Stiles turned in time to see Allison kiss Scott’s cheek and wiping under his eyes, giving him this look like she knew he could do this. All they heard as they left was Scott walking towards the... the body. As they left, they finally heard the howl that had been lodged in Scott’s throat. Isaac whimpered and curled further into Stiles, making himself smaller, as they walked towards the Jeep.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott picked Isaac and Lydia up from Stiles’ house later that night or early that morning, Stiles wasn’t even sure. He hadn’t left his bed, wearing that stupid shirt Derek had put on once - that ridiculous one with the stripes that he doesn’t even really remember buying. His phone had buzzed a couple of times but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to lift it up, unlock it and check. It probably didn’t matter. It probably wasn’t as important as wallowing because he was _gone_.  

 

He was fucking drowning in between his panic attacks. He couldn’t escape it, it was like every moment he’d spent with Derek was replaying in his mind and he couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t stop it. He just wanted it to _stop_.

 

He didn’t want to remember how Derek had pushed him up against the wall that one time, or how he’d thrown Stiles’ head against his steering wheel. He didn’t want to remember Danny being in his room and naming him as his cousin, Miguel. Stiles didn’t need a reminder of how just a couple weeks ago Derek had punched his hand and damn that had hurt like fuck, Stiles has only just got over the bruises left from it. There were so many moments and they were blurring more and more because Stiles couldn’t stop the flow of tears.

 

He didn’t know why this had affected him so much; he was fucking _terrified_ of the guy two years ago and _now_? Now he was sobbing because he was gone and Stiles wasn’t ready for that. He thought that he had years and decades of snark, and banter, and hidden smiles, and dry humour together. He wasn’t ready for that to just disappear because right now, he’d only just realised how much he liked that, how much he looked forward to that. He knew that he played up when Derek was around and he knew that Derek would always retaliate because that’s what they did and he wasn’t prepared to just let it go.

 

His sobs were getting caught in his throat, tears staining his face, hands and legs shaking, skin stinging from the dried salt on it.

 

Derek always let him in. Stiles was that little shit of a person that acted arrogant enough to get under his skin, made him laugh under his breath and smirk at the others. Derek let him in and yet Stiles wasn’t in far enough, he wasn’t what he wanted to be, he wanted to be a part of Derek’s life; not just some shitty kid he couldn’t kick because that kid knew some werewolves. He wanted to get so far under Derek’s skin that he was unravelling him, taking him apart piece by piece.

 

Derek was this beautiful puzzle that Stiles had only started to put together and it was like the pieces just crumbled because he was gone and Stiles would never get to appreciate the amazing picture that completed puzzle would make. He didn’t care how damaged the man was, he knew that he’d still be this stunning being to Stiles.

 

He was heaving, rushing to the bathroom to throw up for the second time that night. Despite the images of everything they’d done together it always came back to the bloody scene he’d left hours prior.

 

He teetered back to bed, stripping his clothes, the sweat from the shaking was messing with his body temperature. Stiles stayed under the covers for a whole twenty four hours, giving his dad some bullshit excuse about a stomach bug or the flu or something, before Scott gave up trying to call him and ended up at the foot of his bed.

 

“Wake up, you fucking _asshole._ Do you know how to answer a phone?” Stiles blinked, his eyes dried shut from the amount he’d cried. “Derek isn’t dead.”

 

Stiles let out a dry sob, “Scott this isn’t some fucking joke, he- he died. You can’t dick around with this. S-Scott, he... he’s gone and I-”

 

“I know but he isn’t, I’m not being a jerk, Stiles. Come on,” Stiles slid out of bed, right onto the floor. His limbs were heavy. Scott knelt down next to him, “I took him to Deaton, his heart it, I don’t know, it started _healing_ when I got him to the house? I could hear it.” Stiles was crying all over again.

 

“He’s in so much trouble,” Stiles was hiccuping as he tried to control his breathing. “I was so- He was dead! I am so angry at him, how could he just-?”

 

Scott nodded, throwing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt at his friend, “Get up.” Stiles left the house with his shoes in his hand and his sweatshirt round his neck. “I’ll drive?” Scott asked, laughing at how eager he was, plucking the Jeep’s keys from Stiles’ mouth.

 

After he finished dressing himself in the car he realised something; he’d slept on and off, he hadn’t taken any medication, he was beyond jittery. His fingers tapping against his knee, his feet bobbing up and down on the car floor. They arrived at the veterinary clinic and Stiles nearly fell out of the car.

 

“Slow down, buddy. He’s mostly healed but he’s pretty messed up.” Isaac was sat in the waiting room, smirking as Stiles stormed through the building.

 

“Or don’t slow down, whatever!” He ignored Scott’s shout, what did he know anyway.

 

“You fucking jerk.” Derek’s head shot up, there were deep, naked pink scars on his throat and across his chest. He was still kind of fragile, still pale and a looking a little shaky. “You think you can just scare us like that? Scare _me_ like that? I swear to god Derek, next time your heart stops beating it’ll be because of me.”

 

He was stalking across to the man as he spoke, eyes narrowed. Derek had stood up from the chair he was sitting in, flattening himself against the wall as Stiles’ prodded his chest. He raised his eyebrow at that; he may have medically died but dammit Stiles, he was still the goddamn alpha. “What are you going to do, talk me to death?”

 

Stiles glared at him, running a hand through his hair, tugging a little, “Oh Alpha fucking resurrects himself and suddenly he’s got jokes? You’re such a pain in my ass.” Then _he_ was the one pushing Derek further against the wall, one of his palms flat against the wall next to Derek’s head and the other on his chest. “Dumbass,” He muttered, leaning in to kiss Derek. Stiles felt the man’s hands on his waist, travelling up his chest - one caught under his shirt, by accident _of course_ \- and the other sliding up Stiles’ face, tangling in the hair that Derek was oh-so grateful he’d decided to grow out.

 

Things had started out heated, Stiles’ emotions running high, Derek deciding he liked to catch his breath by nipping Stiles’ jaw and licking under his ear. “Miss me?”

 

“Don’t even joke, Derek,” Stiles whispered, his eyes closing because he was never going to forget the drowning feeling because he had thought he was dead and gone. He would treasure Derek because he knew how it felt to lose him and oh my god, no. He would get angry but smile at the same time because he wasn’t spending a day being mad at Derek when he could be breaking down his argument with kisses and touches.

 

Derek whined, sniffing slightly behind his ear, “S-Stop, don’t. You’re, you’re sad.”

 

“Of course I’m sad, I thought I’d lost you.” It was a mumble because Stiles was shy about just how much he had reacted. Sure he could play it up with anger and his ego but he was hurt so bad by the thought of Derek dead. That’s when Derek initiated a kiss, something slow and full of promises of a future and time together and that was good.

 

“Sorry, I- I don’t want to put you through that,” Derek said lowly, head dipping back against the wall, throat exposed. “ _Fuck_ ,” What was Stiles supposed to do, look at that piece of skin and not bite it? Whatever.

 

Stiles had two hands on either side of Derek’s face, their eyes were locked and Stiles’ breathing was hitched from kissing and because part of him was still reeling because Derek was here and living and under his fingers. “Don’t leave me again.”

 

Derek flat out whined and ducked his head under Stiles’ chin, “I never want to.” Stiles thanked him for his honesty because Derek had some issues with that but that was okay, they could work through that, if he was honest they could probably work through anything.

 

Stiles would constantly be on alert, jumping up when the door opened or there was a noise, when the pack went out to hunt something down - especially when they finally drove the Alphas out of town - because he couldn’t be torn apart again. Derek would look at him, a sad smile on his face as he pulled him into his arms, muttering an apology as he tried to kiss away the worry he smelled and saw. They weren’t the kind of couple that was sickeningly sweet but the pack saw the worried glances and the tight hugs and the shoulder squeezes. They knew that they meant the world to each other and that Stiles would always be jumpy when other werewolves came through town, would always hold Derek’s hand that little bit tighter and wouldn’t let go for as long. Derek would never forgive himself for being stupid and getting beat up, leaving the kid like this, but the guilt wouldn’t eat him alive like it usually did because it got him the man lying next to him in their bed, legs tangled and arms wrapped around his torso.

 


End file.
